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Thursday, April 7, 2011

Camino De Decaer

Peeling paint, ruffled people,
Pock-marked asphalt, an abandoned church's steeple
Burnt out buildings, shuttered doors,
Rehab centers where we keep the poor-

Bits of grass shooting up through cracks,
Suspicious eyes watching our backs
lumber yards, a vacant, half-built stripmall,
Everyday I drive past them all-

Sirens blaring, train whistles blasting,
a parade of Semi-Trucks is passing,
The air is brown, so are the trees,
As the wind blows dust and tumbleweed seeds-

Catty-corner to the bustling swapmeet,
Next to the liquor store, with the storage yard across the street,
is the little brown building where I work everyday,
Hoping to revitalize this place someday.

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